


fall back together

by pendules



Series: out of the woods [2]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, but adam loves him anyway, ronan still sucks at Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 19:10:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5754898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pendules/pseuds/pendules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"<i>Really</i>, though? You're <i>so</i> incapable of actually saying how you feel that you had to <i>dream</i> something up to do it for you?" He looks almost amused, though. Like he hasn't known this all along.</p><p>"Good thing you love me, then," Ronan says, smirking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fall back together

**Author's Note:**

> I had to write their make-up scene from [_in screaming colour_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5636734), so this is that.

He actually does take a shower, even though he's pretty certain showing up looking like a wreck isn't going to make their current situation any _worse_. But the hot spray hits him like a slap to the face and he figures it's exactly what he needs. He feels like he hasn't been truly conscious since Adam uttered the words, triggering a complete shutdown, a retreat back into the dark corners of his mind where the monsters are born. He's been slowly letting the light in, but there are still shadowed places that are harder to illuminate. The places where his shame and fear reside, the tiny echo in his head telling him he won't ever be enough, that this is going to end in flames of his own creation.

He still does look uncannily like death when he surveys himself in the mirror afterwards. Hollow cheeks. Dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. He grazes his fingers over the soft bristles of hair now covering his scalp; it's longer than it's been in years, but Adam seems to like it from how much he rubs his hands over his head. It's not long enough to get a proper grip on yet, but he can imagine — _Fuck_. He clenches his hands on the sink for a moment, head bowed, eyes closed. He would hit something, but showing up with bloody knuckles _might_ actually make it worse. It was good, for a while, but it still always felt like walking a tightrope; he was bound to slip at some time. Best to just get it out of the way, even if it was at the shittiest possible moment. But the thing about walking a tightrope is that there's an end. If you survive the slip, if you hang on, you might actually make it to the other side.

He still doesn't know how to do _this_ , though. He thinks about bringing something with him, but maybe that'll just be something else to throw in his face. He's pretty sure Hallmark doesn't sell "Sorry for rejecting your love confession and breaking your heart" cards; he could always dream one, maybe it might make him laugh, or maybe he might _actually_ throw it in his face. He considers the small mountain of dreams that's been accumulating at the foot of his bed over the past two days. He'd thought of them as distractions, but they were always presents. Apologies. The galaxy ball. The potted plant that emanates soothing vapours for remedying bad moods (it's not technically a drug, but he makes a note to be careful about keeping it out, especially around Gansey). The smooth, round stone that changes colour depending on who holds it. The pillow that sings you to sleep. 

He goes back to his room, gets dressed, puts the stone in his jacket pocket, puts the plant in the backseat of his car, makes the ten-minute drive to Adam's.

*

He definitely doesn't say a silent prayer at the top of the stairs before knocking.

Adam opens the door and just stares at him for a long moment, like he's surprised to find him there or maybe he actually _does_ look that terrible. Adam doesn't look that great either; his eyes are tired, hair mussed-up like he's run his hands through it too many times, bottom lip raw like he's spent the last two days worrying at it with his teeth. He aches to touch him for a moment, to gently pull him into his own body, but he tucks his hands into his jeans pockets instead.

"Can I come in?" he asks, voice small and strained, looking at the floor.

Adam slowly moves out of the way and quietly closes the door behind him.

He's only just crossed the threshold when Adam rounds on him and says, "You're an _idiot_." It's more pitying than angry, and he deserves that. He's a pitiful, wretched thing. He should be grovelling on his knees for forgiveness; he probably would, but Adam expects more from him, for some reason, treats him like an actual person. Maybe it's harder this way. Disappointing him is the worst fucking feeling because he trusts him to be better than this. Because he wants to be, so fucking badly.

"I know," Ronan tells him, meeting his gaze now.

"I _love_ you," he says. And the first time, it was almost disbelieving and awed. Like he was amazed that the words were coming out of his own mouth, that he had the ability to say them. And something about them rendered him vulnerable and fragile, and he _hated_ it with every part of him. He wanted to destroy something, and Adam's heart was right in his crosshairs. Now, though, the conviction in his voice makes him even stronger. Like a part of him's been set free. He's never imagined that someone loving him could be anything but a burden before.

"I know."

"You know, when someone tells you they love you, you don't slam the door in their face," he says, folding his arms across his chest, but it's not hurt or defensive, just mildly annoyed. "Usually, you say it back."

"Do I have to?" he says, wondering if it could be that insanely simple.

"No, you don't _have_ to say anything. But you've done a piss-poor job of showing it lately."

He sighs, and nods, conceding the fact. "Give me your hand."

"What?" Adam asks, looking perturbed for the first time.

"Just — please."

Adam takes a deep breath before extending his arm, palm facing up. 

Ronan takes his hand in his own, gently, just keeping it steady, and places the stone from his pocket onto the centre of his palm.

They both look down at it, wide-eyed, as the colourless glass floods with a deep, rich purple, tinged with reds and pinks and blues.

"What the hell?" Adam says as Ronan lets out a small exhale, almost out of relief.

"I thought that's what it did, but I wasn't sure," he explains.

" _That's_ not an explanation. In what world is _that_ an explanation?" Adam accuses.

Ronan tips it out of Adam's palm onto his own and it goes murky and dark, shadows swirling, but the edges are brighter, orange and red, like flames.

"Still not getting it," Adam says, rolling his eyes.

"It shows how I feel about whoever's holding it," Ronan says, bluntly.

" _Oh_ ," Adam says, carefully taking it back and regarding it curiously. "What does purple mean, then?"

"It didn't come with a fucking colour chart, Parrish."

" _Really_ , though? You're _so_ incapable of actually saying how you feel that you had to _dream_ something up to do it for you?" He looks almost amused, though. Like he hasn't known this all along.

"Good thing you love me, then," Ronan says, smirking.

"You're an asshole."

"Yeah, I am," he admits. "But I also really fucking love you."

Adam pulls him in by his shirt and kisses him then, hard and fierce, one hand running over the back of his head, the other, still clutching the stone, pressed directly over his heart.

"You're a dick," Adam tells him, gently poking him in the chest, but he's smiling against his mouth.

"I'm sorry," he says, softly, lightly tracing his fingers over Adam's spine.

"Shut up," he says, and kisses him again.

*

"I can't believe you dreamt me _weed_ ," Adam says when they're lying on his bed, still looking at the stone cupped in his hand, mesmerised by the shifting colours. 

"It's _not_ weed. It's a mystical herb with psychotropic healing properties," Ronan says against his shoulder.

"Basically, _weed_."

"I should give it to Gansey. He probably needs it, after dealing with all our shit."

" _Your_ shit, you mean," Adam says, but there's no heat in it.

"I said I was sorry," he says, squeezing his other hand where it's lying on his stomach.

"Doesn't mean I accepted it. I can still make you work for it," he says, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, what did you have in mind?" Ronan says, kissing his neck softly.

"Oh, _so many things_ ," he says, leaning over to rest the stone on his nightstand as Ronan's eyes follow his every movement. 

And then he swiftly reaches under Ronan's shirt and tugs it over his head.

**Author's Note:**

> The stone basically does the opposite of [this one](http://missamandafay.tumblr.com/post/131854783314/what-if-ronan-dreams-uplike-a-dream-stone-or), because Ronan doesn't know how to use his words.


End file.
